


The New Coat

by rubychan05



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Background Character Death, M/M, Sherlock's Coat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-18 01:44:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3551429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubychan05/pseuds/rubychan05
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John had always been amazed by the sheer resilience of Sherlock’s coat. Whatever Sherlock put it through – be it wading through skips, swimming in the Thames, or climbing over barbed wire fences – the coat stubbornly refused to die, clinging onto life with a tenacity that John couldn’t help but admire. </p><p>And then Sherlock somehow managed to catch it in a lawn mower whilst working a case at a gardening show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The New Coat

John had always been amazed by the sheer resilience of Sherlock’s coat. Whatever Sherlock put it through – be it wading through skips, swimming in the Thames, or climbing over barbed wire fences – the coat stubbornly refused to die, clinging onto life with a tenacity that John couldn’t help but admire. No matter what Sherlock did to it, it seemed that a quick visit to the dry cleaners or Sherlock’s tailor would result in the coat returning as good as new, with only a few faded stains or loose threads to show that anything had gone wrong in the first place. He’d been starting to think the coat was actually magic, it had escaped destruction so many times.

And then Sherlock somehow managed to catch it in a lawn mower whilst working a case at a gardening show.

The whole situation was so ridiculous that John almost wanted to laugh, except that Sherlock was cradling the tattered scraps of what remained and looking like he was about to cry. Which was, quite frankly, terrifying. So John had just made their excuses and bundled Sherlock into a cab instead.

After the tailor – surprise, surprise – pronounced the coat DOA, Sherlock sunk into a fit of depression the likes of which John had never seen before. Certainly not over a coat. He’d never known someone to love an item of clothing so much that, upon its demise, they stopped eating and refused to get out of bed. John just couldn’t understand it. It was like Sherlock was mourning a person, not a damn coat. He’d even had the bloody thing cremated and put in an urn on the mantelpiece.

“Why don’t we just go buy you a new one?” John finally suggested, flinching back when Sherlock glared at him over his bedcovers.

“It was a Belstaff Milford, John – the things don’t exactly grow on trees.” He snarled scathingly. “I’ve had it since university.”

John sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Then we’ll get you something else – for Christ’s sake Sherlock, it’s just a coat. A nice coat, I’ll give you that, but a coat nonetheless. Just get something else.”

“It won’t be the same.”

“Maybe it’s time for a change.”

“I’m not getting another coat.” Sherlock said firmly, rolling away to face the wall. John resisted the urge to hit him.

“Sherlock. It’s the middle of winter and forecast to snow in a few days. I’m not letting you run all over London without something to keep you warm.” He warned through gritted teeth.

To his surprise, the threat worked, although Sherlock’s face was the picture of suffering as they traipsed from one designer shop to another. Personally, John would have preferred to look in the more common retailers, but he wasn’t going to push his luck. Sherlock tried on everything from leather jackets to military greatcoats, before finally settling on a plain black double breasted overcoat that hung down to his knees.

“It’s just not the same.” Sherlock muttered petulantly and privately John had to agree. The new coat somehow achieved the impossible task of making Sherlock look both short and overweight, with pockets more for show than holding useful things like lock picking sets or magnifying glasses. Even on the windiest days, it refused to billow as Sherlock ran, instead choosing to tangle round his legs rather unbecomingly.

John hadn’t realised quite how much he liked Sherlock’s old coat until presented with an impostor.

Which was, of course, the only reason why John stayed up all night bidding on a Belstaff Milford on Ebay. It had absolutely nothing to do with the unhappy expression Sherlock got every time he had to put on his new coat. Or the way Sherlock would stare forlornly at his reflection in the mirror.

It didn’t, however, explain why John spent so many nights customising the damn thing after it arrived, carefully adding marks where the old one had been stained and roughing up the smooth material in places.

He wished he’d thought to film Sherlock’s reaction as he tore the wrapping paper off. The detective’s eyes widened to the point of comedy, his pale hands shaking as he unfolded the coat and shrugged it on, suddenly looking more like himself than he had in weeks.

If Sherlock noticed the tiny ‘J.W’ sewn on the inside, over his heart, he didn’t say anything.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes. Yes, I did tag the coat's death as Background Character Death. I'd have tagged it as Major, if I wasn't worried about readers thinking this was full of pain and angst and staying away.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr under [rubychan05](http://rubychan05.tumblr.com/).


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